


#4

by hhopp



Series: Hhopp's Destiel Angst-a-Thon [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10101110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhopp/pseuds/hhopp
Summary: "How long has it been since you've slept?"





	

     Cas found him hunched over a cup of coffee at four. It had to have been his fourth or fifth cup, but who was keeping track by now, anyway? The beginnings of sunrise were peeking through the window, taking away just enough shadow that Dean could clearly see the worried furrow between dark eyebrows.

    “Dean?”

    “Hey. Is everything okay?”

    “Why’re you out here?” he asked, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. His dark hair was stuck up in three different directions and his eyes crinkled in protest at being open at this hour. His voice was even deeper than normal, but soft with concern.

    “Couldn’t sleep.” Dean shrugged. The blue gaze didn’t waver and he began to fidget.

    “Dean.” Uh-oh. This was his no-nonsense, you-need-to-take-better-care-of-yourself voice. A little flash of panic must’ve crossed his face because Cas sighed and crossed the room to crouch next to his seat. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” This was even worse, because he was using the concerned voice. The one that sounded too much like the television therapists he’d never been able to afford growing up and was too afraid of to see now.

    He snorted. “What’s today, Thursday?”

    “Dean…”

    “It’s been a few days.”

    “Why didn’t you talk to me?” _Boom_. That was a punch in the gut. It was even worse because he clearly didn’t mean it that way. It wasn’t meant to be a guilt trip, you could see it right there in his eyes. Those stupid, pretty blue eyes full of far too much curiosity and concern for someone like Dean Winchester. He opened his mouth to answer and just gaped, a fish gasping for water in the middle of the Sahara. He didn’t realize he was tearing up until Cas brushed a calloused thumb beneath his eye.

    If it were anyone but Cas, he’d be asking why he cared so much. But it wasn’t anyone. This was Cas— the guy who’d chipped and chipped and chipped away at the brick walls he put up around himself until he’d made a hole sizable enough to climb through. Cas— who knew all his deepest, darkest secrets and gave up his own in return. Cas— who had married him, who had held his hand tight in the hospital after that car crash three years ago, who had worked extra hours to support them both when Dean lost his job to his mental health issues, and still found time to take care of him. Cas, who had (mostly) convinced Dean that he was here to stay and they were in this together.

    He made a garbled, choky sound that was supposed to be an apology. Next thing he knew, he was wrapped in muscled arms, little comforts being whispered in his ear. Cas’ blunt nails scratched up and down his back until his shoulders relaxed.

    “Is it the nightmares again?” He nodded into his shoulder. “I’ll tell you what. Come back to bed and try to get a few hours. I’ll stay up and wake you if it looks like things have taken a turn for the worse. Deal?”

    “Okay.” Cas slid his hands down his arms and squeezed his hands. They trudged back across the apartment to their room and bundled under the blankets.

    “Goodnight, Dean.”

    “Night, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Kudos, Comments, you know the drill if you've ever read an author's note before.


End file.
